10/05/2025
Each year this day feels more complex, not sure if it’s a sign of age, or a sign of the times. I feel today could be a more inclusive day if we shift one word, so I wrote some words to try and make sense of it all.
they say celebrate
but
tomorrow a friend
will bury her mum
another counts the
empty chairs
at the breakfast table
another holds a card
from the child she has
while grieving
the one she lost
another holds nothing.
her womb aching
another, whose child
may never hold a crayon
and write “mum, i love you”
some visit mothers
who don’t remember their names.
here but not here
some protect themselves
from mothers who hurt
who left
who chose absence
over presence
celebration feels … narrow
when
some navigate “the firsts”
without their mothers
some hold conversations
with strangers who birthed them
some mother alone
under a weighted blanket
some living in the cannot
maybe
not-yet
of mothering
not celebration then
but honour and witness
witness the grief
witness the love
witness the empty spaces
witness the too-full hands
witness the pure joy too
honour what is, what isn’t
what might never be,
what overflows
honour the cards proudly displayed
the breakfast in bed
the chaos
the quiet mornings
the forgetting
honour it all
